


Night-time Shudder

by acatalepsy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Depictions of Snogging, Hurt/Comfort, Sleep Deprivation, Space Wives!, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acatalepsy/pseuds/acatalepsy
Summary: She runs her hands up River’s arms, her gaze trailing up her body, trying to take in every inch of her as quickly as possible. She doesn’t know what to say.I missed you? I need you? I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again?Instead she just settles for “Hello, sweetie.”———In which the Doctor ends up staying awake for a whole month in order to avoid the recurring dreams she keeps having about River, until eventually her newfound friends stage an intervention of sorts.





	Night-time Shudder

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be fluff because all i really wanted to do was write some scenes where thirteen is absolutely besotted with river but then it accidentally became angst. whoops.
> 
> the title is taken from 'smokestacks' by LAYLA which i was listening to on repeat the whole time i was writing and you should listen to as well so you can join me in feeling emotional.
> 
> also i'm a gay ace (gayce?) and this is the Sauciest Thing I Have Ever Written. truly.
> 
> also writing f/f is literally the most therapeutic and cleansing experience and i highly recommend it??? like,, i've got some actual hands on experience with being hopeless around women? feels good. feels authentic.
> 
> thanks to @michaelburnnham on tumblr for beta reading for me! <3

At first she passes it off as her just being busy, or simply forgetting, or that she’s going to get round to it eventually but there is just so many places she wants to see and so much she wants to do — which in all honestly doesn’t even make that much sense to her seeing as she’s the proud thief of a literal time machine.

The fact of the matter is this: she doesn’t want to sleep. Because when she sleeps she dreams. And when she dreams she has The Dream.

What happens in The Dream is this.

She is alone in her TARDIS. There’s some sort of far off destination that she wants to travel to and she’s running excitedly around the console, coat billowing out behind her as she works the controls as usual. Where she’s going is always pretty irrelevant. At this point everything seems normal, but then she yanks a lever, or flips a switch, and she catches a glimpse of her left hand and she sees it — that familiar green stone glittering from her ring finger. Her wedding band. Except this time it fits, sits there contentedly as if she’d never lost it in the first place. And then, before she has any time to make sense of this peculiarity, there she is.

River. Silhouetted against the TARDIS’ doorway.

Instantly all the racing thoughts in her mind are wiped blissfully clean. She looks young — not the youngest she’s ever seen her but … younger. It must be early on in the timeline then. Post Pandorica. Post Jim the Fish. She’s also wearing that sleeveless leather dress with the pistol holsters which means she’s probably up to no good.

She charges into the room, slamming the door behind her; hair as wild as ever, a cloud of curls around her head. In the distance there’s the faint sound of her pursuers’ laser guns going off that can just be heard over her heavy breathing.

And then they lock eyes.

“Always right on time aren’t you, darling?” She shoots her a cheeky grin.

The Doctor can’t move — can’t even speak.

“Well, don’t just stand there! I’ve got a dozen Peladonian bounty hunters after me. Don’t ask me why because I know how stubborn you are and you won’t be pleased if you find out.”

As River briskly crosses the room and begins to grapple with the console, the Doctor’s brain skips right over being annoyed with her wife for committing larceny (again) and feels like it’s short-circuiting. She feels her neck flush and the tips of her ears grow hot. _How is she piloting the TARDIS with its new controls like she does it every day? How does she know who she is? How is she even here?_

After the ship begins to whirr with that telltale sound of being in flight, with a notable absence of the scraping of brakes however, River turns to the Doctor letting out an impatient sigh. “Now. Where were we?”

“I … You —” And then the Doctor’s being drawn towards her as if its against her own will, her feet seeming to carry her before her mind can catch up, drawn into her orbit as if by her own natural gravity.

“Always so wonderfully eloquent, dear.”

She runs her hands up River’s arms, her gaze trailing up her body, trying to take in every inch of her as quickly as possible. She doesn’t know what to say. _I missed you? I need you? I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again?_

Instead she just settles for “Hello, sweetie.”

This seems to be the right thing to say because then they’re kissing. And River’s mouth is warm and soft and they’re so close and she’s _real_ and _here_ and — it feels like those dizzying hours right after regenerating, like the inside of her mind is fizzing and all the cells from the tips of her fingers to her toes are burning. Did kissing River always feel this brilliant?

She barely pauses to catch her breath before she’s cupping River’s face in her hands, desperately bringing them closer together. Her fingers trace circles in the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Goodness. I forgot how enthusiastic this face of yours was,” River smirks, breaking away, her gaze flickering up to meet the Doctor’s, peering up from behind her lashes.

The Doctor laughs breathlessly, pressing their foreheads together. Their noses bump gently. “Sorry. ’S been a while.”

Suddenly River’s soft expression shifts to one of thinly veiled dismay, searching her face. “Oh, Doctor. This is the first time since … ?”

“Mmmm,” the Doctor hums. “I’ve … I’ve _missed_ _you_.” She tries to keep her voice from wavering but it does anyway.

“Well, I’ll just have to make this special then, hm?”

The Doctor lets out a watery laugh and nods shakily.

And then River is pressing warm open-mouthed kisses up from the base of her neck to the shell of her ear and the Doctor tilts her head back. It tickles, but also leaves her shuddering. She stumbles backwards, tripping so she’s leant up against the TARDIS console and then they’re crashing into each other.

The shifting Gallifreyan projections that creep across the adjacent walls cast them in a warm glow, strands of hair floating around River’s face in a golden halo as the Doctor watches, mesmerised. If the scene feels unreal or dreamlike she doesn’t notice it. She’s too preoccupied with the fact that her gorgeous wife is only inches away from her, breath ghosting her own. She shivers again which then elicits a musical laugh from River that makes her blush more than any of the snogging ever could.

Then there’s a pause where all River does is just … look at her. The Doctor tilts her head to one side.

“What are you looking at?”

“You are luminous, you know that?” River breathes.

Her face heats up and for the first time in a long time the Doctor feels happy. Or, no — that’s not it. She feels … calm. Like she doesn’t have this immense pressure to be anything for anyone — to hide anything from anyone. Like everything’s going to be okay because everything she needs is right here in front of her.

And then? She wakes up.

 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

She can’t quite articulate how exactly coming out of The Dream feels. Actually, she can. It’s agonising. For a few glorious moments when she first wakes River is still there with her, and she expects that when she rolls over she’ll find her there, buried in the pillows, or milling around wearing her luxury Artarisian silk nightgown as she makes them a morning cup of tea. But then it all starts slipping away and she realises where she is. Her hand automatically goes to her ring finger, that empty space where her wedding band should be, where it isn’t, and then she’s well ... alone.

The first dozen times it happens she does cry. A lot. And then at some point she decides that she would rather face sleep deprivation than to go through it again. So when it comes to sleeping she just … doesn’t. Which is fine! Or — should be fine? Time Lords don’t need to sleep as much as humans do anyway. (The longest documented amount of time a Gallifreyan has stayed awake for was twenty-two days.)

Well — it turns out that the answer to that previous question is that everything is always fine until it isn’t.

The day things go from being fine to not being fine the Doctor has picked up her new friends — Yaz, Ryan, Graham — and they’re supposed to be heading off on a trip to Arcadia, a well-known tourist destination untouched by modern technologies that she’s sure they’ll all love with its scenic sprawling green fields and glittering lakes.

When the TARDIS finally materialises in Sheffield though, she barely notices them enter the ship — which, now that she’s thinking about it, looks just a tad messy.

“… Doctor?” Yaz calls into the darkness. “Hello?”

“Anyone home?” Ryan’s voice.

“Just a second!” The Doctor calls from where she’s sitting crouched behind the console surrounded by wires, papers, books, nuts and bolts, a half disassembled toaster. “Over here!” She dimly registers that she doesn’t exactly remember how she got where she is now.

As her companions make their way over she hastily tries to shove things into piles or some sort of semblance of order, but it doesn’t really seem to help.

“I really hope you don’t mind me saying, Doctor, but this place is a right tip!” Graham frowns, confused at the mess around them. And yup. Definitely worse than she thought. “What happened?”

She looks blearily around the room.

“‘Just … been looking for something. Actually I’ve been looking for it for a while. ‘Could’ve sworn it was right here … But then again, the TARDIS’ reconfigured her layout so technically it could be anywhere. Or I suppose it could’ve fallen out somewhere over Sheffield. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Graham raises an eyebrow in bewilderment and turns to look at Ryan who looks similarly confused.

“Are you alright, Doctor?”

“Right as rain! Why do you ask?”

“No reason. You just seem a bit tired? Is all.”

The Doctor stifles a yawn. “Nonsense.”

 _Does she really look that bad?_ She hasn’t exactly looked at herself in a mirror for a while, but judging by how heavy her eyelids feel she wouldn’t be surprised if she had a couple of telltale dark smudges beneath her eyes. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and she can feel some sort of grease smudge on her cheek. She drags her fingers through her already disheveled hair and then hops up abruptly from where she’s sitting, swaying slightly at the spots that dance before her eyes. Before Yaz can reach out to steady her though she’s already gripping onto the controls.

“So! Arcadia then? I think I told you this before but the scenery is absolutely _stunning_. ‘Can’t miss it. Really, you’re in for a treat with this one.”

Yaz crosses her arms, ignoring her rambling. “Doctor. When was the last time you slept?”

“I’m not sure … couple of weeks ago? Maybe?” She frowns into the middle distance.

 _“Weeks?”_ Graham splutters.

“Yup,” the Doctor pops the ‘p’. “It’s fine though. Time Lords don’t need as much sleep as humans do.” She yawns again.

“Yeah, I can really see that.”

“‘ave you got Space Insomnia or something?” Ryan rubs a hand over his mouth in thought. “Maybe you could use some sort of sleeping aid.”

“Yeah. Surely there must be some sort of alien brand soporific you’ve got hanging around somewhere in this great blue box of yours?” Graham looks around the TARDIS. “Or I suppose I could pop down to the shops.”

The Doctor frowns, not really wanting to disclose that, yes, she does have ‘alien brand soporifics’ that she could use, but that she really doesn’t want to at the moment because of the whole ‘I Can’t Stop Dreaming of My Kind-of-Sort-of-Missing Wife’ problem — so instead she tells a partial truth which is “Most sleeping aids don’t work for me. Alien or human. In fact, just a single tab of aspirin could kill me. ‘Probably should’ve mentioned that earlier.”

She rubs at her tired eyes and then feeling a sudden pang of hunger she presses her boot down on the Custard Cream pedal. _How long has it been since she last ate?_ She’s been letting a lot of things slip by the wayside apparently.

“Doctor …”

Nothing happens. She presses again.

“Doctor.”

The infernal thing is still refusing to work for some absurd reason. So she just keeps pressing it. And when that doesn’t work she stomps harder. Because Rassilon she is _sad_ and right now all she wants is to get her _stupid_ vanilla cream biscuit as comfort food and then she can go off on a trip to a _lovely_ planet with her friends and not have to keep _forcing_ herself not to think about —

“DOCTOR!” She is snapped out of her revery by a chorus of her friends’ yells.

“WHAT?!”

She looks down to see a pile of at least fifty or so biscuits gathering at their feet, pouring from the console and onto the floor.

“Oh.”

She can already feel hot tears beginning to prick at her eyes and buries her face in her hands. She sinks to the floor, coat bunching up around her.

After a few long moments Yaz lowers herself to the ground as well so that she’s sitting next to her. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She asks again quietly. “Because I have a feeling this isn’t just about biscuits.”

“No,” the Doctor sniffs, looking at her feet. “No, it’s not.”

She takes a few more moments to speak again.

“I lost someone — _something_ important to me.”

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?” Ryan cuts in, somewhat lacking in tact. “What did you lose?” He’s sat down in front of them with his knees drawn up to his chest.

Graham gives him a stern look and he holds up his hands innocently, placating. “’Just asking. Sorry.”

The Doctor clears her throat. “It’s my wedding band. I can’t find it anywhere. I lost it when I regenerated.”

“You’re _married?”_ This time it’s Yaz’ turn to be tactless.

The Doctor frowns sadly.

Yaz’ expression immediately shifts to one of remorse. “Sorry, Doctor. That was rude of me. I just—“

“It’s alright,” she shakes her head, chuckling softly. “I know I don’t exactly seem like the type.” She sighs. “I didn’t _think_ I was the type. But yes. I am — was? Married. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Graham asks.

“We’re both time-travellers. Somewhere along the way our timelines crossed and now we keep meeting in the wrong order. I’ve already had to say goodbye to her twice. This last time, though, felt incredibly … final.”

This is the first time the Doctor has ever really acknowledged this fact to herself out loud. It hurts but it also feels like there’s a sort of weight that’s being lifted off of her.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to see her again.”

Tears are now falling silently down her cheeks once more but she doesn’t try to stop them this time.

“I keep having this recurring dream about her. Every time I wake up I expect her to be here but she never is.” She scrubs at her face again with the back of her sleeve. “It’s unbearable.”

Graham puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. “I know exactly how that feels.”

“I’m so sorry.” She exhales shakily. “I feel guilty for even reacting this way. There’s … still a chance that we’ll meet again. Which is more than anyone could ask for, really. But just the the thought that we might not … I can’t stand it.”

Graham shakes his head. “Trust me when I say guilt isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“And the ring …” Yaz begins.

“It feels like my only connection to her. And I lost it. It could be anywhere by now.”

Yaz sets her jaw in determination, looking like she’s thoroughly made her mind up. “Well that’s just it then. We’ll help you find it. Right guys?”

“I’m in,” Ryan nods. “After all — we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

“You’re not alone, Doc,” Graham gives her shoulder another squeeze for good measure. “We’ve got your back.”

 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It takes them several days of searching in which the new self-proclaimed ‘TARDIS Team’ find themselves becoming thoroughly acquainted with the ship with all its twists and turns, its psychic matrix, and indoor pool-cum-library, until they finally find it. All this time though, the Doctor is, much to their dismay, still refusing to sleep.

If she’s being honest by the third day she’s actually feeling pretty hopeless — almost convinced that the ring has fell out somewhere over Sheffield, lost along with all of the loose papers she had hanging around in the library.

She’s halfway through nodding off, balanced precariously atop a ladder amid the stacks when she’s jolted awake by a sudden yell.

“I — I think I’ve found it!” Yaz exclaims, ecstatic, not too far from the main control room. “Over here!”

The Doctor slides down from her perch and bounds over in seconds, Ryan and Graham in close pursuit, and as soon as she sees that familiar glint in Yaz’ hand she knows. They’ve found it.

“It was wedged in the grating down here,” Yaz gestures to the floor. “I almost missed it.”

“Yasmin Khan! You are absolutely _brilliant_ , you know that?” She sweeps her off her feet in an enormous hug.

“Doctor,” Yaz wheezes.

“Sorry,” she laughs sheepishly, setting her friend back down and dusting off her shoulders.

She holds out her cupped hand and gently Yaz presses the ring into it.

It looks exactly the same as she remembers it. Of course it does. Gold and double banded with a single gleaming green stone embedded in its centre.

“Thank you,” she breathes, sliding it onto her finger. It’s still much too big, and she doesn’t quite fancy wearing her wedding ring on her thumb, but just seeing it there again on her hand, where it’s supposed to be, is enough to make her hearts physically ache.

Yaz can probably tell what she’s thinking because moments later she’s saying “here” and unclasping the silver chain from around her neck.

“Oh, Yaz. I can’t.”

“Trust me. I got this from Claire’s when I was fifteen and you most definitely need it more than I do.” She slips off the pendant and then gently replaces it with the wedding band.

As she helps clasp it around the Doctor’s neck she feels like she almost might start crying again. It’s perfect. She looks around at her friends, overwhelmed and lost as to what to say.

“You really love her, don’t you?” Ryan asks.

The Doctor nods.

“What’s was her name?”

“River.” She says. “River Song.”

Yaz smiles sympathetically. “That’s a nice name.”

“Yes. It is.”

“What was she like?” Graham asks. “I can imagine she must really be something if she’s married to you.”

“She _is_ something. She’s brave. And kind. And incredibly smart — a professor. But also a bit … mischievous. Let’s just say I’ve had to bail her out of jail on more than one occasion.”

“I’m sure you’ll find her.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

It doesn’t take them long after that to clean up the mess the Doctor left in her haste to search the TARDIS. In hindsight she now feels a little guilty, no wonder the Old Girl was reluctant to let her have her biscuits, having just regenerated inside the ship _again_ and then proceeding to veritably rip the place apart. By the time they’ve finished putting everything back where it belongs they’re all exhausted, all in various states of dozing off, strewn out around the main control room.

As she fiddles with the ring around her neck, running the pad of her thumb over the faintly warm metal, the Doctor tiredly looks around at her friends in the warm dim lighting — Graham, asleep against one of the TARDIS’ crystalline pillars, wrapped in a blanket from one of the ship’s many bedrooms; Ryan, mouth hanging open, at his feet; and Yaz who is shoulder-to-shoulder with her, leaned up against the console with her nose dipping dangerously close to the pages of a book about Gallifreyan culture she found while investigating the library.

She can’t help but feel a surge of affection towards all of them. They’d already done so much for her and yet they still went to all this effort to help her _again_ — even when she didn’t exactly have the best track record for keeping people out of mortal peril when they offered to give her favours. A mental note is made to think of something special she can do for them, somewhere she can take them in return.

And when the Doctor too finally begins to nod off, thinking of all these places they could go, her friends at her side, her sleep is for the first time in a long time, dreamless.


End file.
